


The demon of choice

by Narienne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4490340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narienne/pseuds/Narienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disgraced chevalier Michel de Chevin is determined to fix his past mistakes and banish the demon he carelessly unleased upon the world. He asks the Inquisition for the assistance, but the help he receives is not exactly what he had expected.</p><p>A story happens after the quest Liberate Emprise du Lion has been unlocked, but before the Inquisitor arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The chill of Emprise du Lion’s wind bit through Ser Michel’s scavenged armor. He wrapped his coat closer around him to stop his body from trembling, though it was caused as much by the cold as by his growing frustration.

“You don’t understand,” he repeated umpteenth time. “He is no ordinary demon. He poses an immense threat to the whole Thedas.”

The female dwarf, Harding as Michel recalled, looked at him like he was a ten-year-old refusing to acknowledge that sweets before dinner are absolutely out of the question. “He certainly does, Ser Michel. Just as the hundreds other demons pouring out of the rifts.” She inhaled deeply and her look softened. “The Inquisition would really like to help you, Ser Michel, but between the Fade rifts and Red Templars we hardly have time to scratch our butts.” Seeing his quizzical look, she gave a slight cough. “What I mean is we need to wait for the reinforcements and I suggest you do the same. Unless you want to get ripped apart by the Templars, demons or whatever it is you are searching.”

“I appreciate your concern, Lead Scout Harding, but this matter cannot wait. If there is no chance for your assistance, I shall be on my way,” Michel said through gritted teeth and rose from his seat, ignoring her apologetic look.

“I doubt I can change your mind, Ser. Before you leave though, you may spare some minutes to see our healer.” She eyed his scratched and bloodied breastplate and Michel felt suddenly embarrassed at the state of his armor. In one thing Scout Harding was right – Emprise du Lion was overrun but rogue Templars and Michel didn’t have an easy time getting to the Inquisition camp. Regardless, any chevalier should have tended his armor before presenting himself to the Lead Scout of the Inquisition. His former masters would be ashamed. Michel could call himself a chevalier no more though. And he definitely could use some healing.

***

Michel was lying on the bedroll, bare from his waist up, while the healer worked magic on him. She was a young girl. _Elven_ , Michel noticed not even trying to hide his distaste. She was petite even for her kind. Her auburn hair was tied in ridiculously long braid and her eyes had this eerie shade of green that many of the elves possessed and which always made Michel’s skin crawl. She was skilled in her craft though and her warm hands were pleasantly gliding over his chilled skin. 

“It’s truly remarkable that you managed to break through all those Templars and demons all on your own and still stand, Ser Knight. What would a lone man seek in place like this?” Her attempt at casual conversation brought a scowl on Michel’s face. No elf in the imperial palace would be so impertinent as to open their mouth to a chevalier unasked. Such insolence would at least earn her a whipping. This girl was no simple servant though, but a mage at the service of the Inquisition, Michel reminded himself and restrained his anger. 

“That’s none of your concern, elf,” he answered abruptly, even though considering the fact that she was tending to his wounds, he should have at least tried to be polite. Plus, that statement wasn’t entirely true. Michel cleared his throat and tried again, making his best attempt at politeness while speaking to the knife-ear. “Your Inquisition chose to be unconcerned with what I seek. You can only thank yourselves if you are all dead by tomorrow.” 

She seemed to be too preoccupied with her task to mind his rudeness. “Is that so, Ser Knight?” She asked absent-mindedly. “Is that why you are here? To save us from our unfortunate fate?” Michel couldn’t tell if a slight tune of mockery in her voice was only his imagination, but before he could react, the bluish glow of her healing spell faded and she rose from her sit. Turning her back on him, she gathered the healing components and moved them to the small storage in the corner of the tent. Michel sat up on the bedroll and started buckling on pieces of his armor. With his fingers numbed by cold, it went painfully slow.

“I might as well do so,” he said grimly tugging at the straps, ”or die trying.”

At his words the bottles cluttered and she suddenly turned to face him, her braid swirling around her. The intensity of her gaze made Michel’s stomach clench. For a long moment she stared at him with these incredible emerald eyes like she was about to say something, but then indifference returned to her face and she only bowed to him courteously. “I wish you good luck on your quest, Ser Knight. May you _choose_ your path wisely.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had just accused him of invading her bedroll while stripped, just after she merrily threatened him with death. Michel took a deep breath, shook his head and rushed after her.

Michel rested his back against the tree and stretched his stiffened muscles. Long hours of trudging through knee-deep snow were incredibly draining, but the sun was still up and he was determined to get as far as he could before the dusk. The wind took on strength, whipping up the white powder and making it impossible to see more than perhaps four feet in front of him.

Michel closed his eyes and listened. The raw wind whistled loudly in his ears, though not loudly enough to drown the sounds of heavy footsteps and the whizz of sword as a heavily armored man crashed down on him out of nowhere. Michel’s blade was out of the sheath in less than a heartbeat and he cut though the man’s throat in a single swift motion. The Red Templar’s body collapsed to the ground with a hollow gurgle, sword falling out of his dead fingers.

Michel had no time to admire his victory as the next two Templars rushed down on him with a wild roar. He kicked the corpse of their fallen companion to slow the first one and swung down on another’s knees. The man bent down and Michel rose up and smashed his pommel into man’s face with an ugly crack.

The first one was now up and moving on him. Michel blocked his strike with ease and shoved him back into the snow bank. The Templar stumbled and it was all that Michel needed. With one powerful strike he ran his opponent through, cracking through the frozen steel of the breastplate. The Templar’s body slipped down into the snow, staining the white with dark blood.

Michel yanked at his sword frantically as another opponent flashed in the corner of his eye, but his fingers were stiff from cold and the frozen blade was hard to pull out of the warm flesh. A moment too slow. 

Suddenly the air cracked and a thunderbolt split his view in half. The Templar coming at him from the side cried out and shuddered, paralyzed in the coils of magic, and then fell, his breastplate smoking. Michel yanked his sword free and turned back to face his new opponent. 

The person before him was wrapped in heavy cloak from head to toe, one hand holding a staff still glowing from the casted spell. The other hand went up in a friendly gesture and then further up to pull the hood down. Michel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the heavy braid fell out of the hood and he saw the familiar face of the elven girl that was tending to his wounds only a few hours ago. Her cheeks were flushed from cold and snow clung to her lashes, but she gave him a wide grin. “You really were serious about dying trying, weren’t you?”

“I had it perfectly under control, thank you.” Michel said sheathing his blade.

“I may be mistaken, but your sword seemed to stick from the wrong body.” 

“I don’t need a sword to worst a man, knife-ear.”

“Then I sincerely apologize for spoiling your fun, Ser Knight.” Despite the insulting word he had just called her, she kept her tone polite, what gave it even stronger touch of mockery.

Michel ignored it. “What in the name of Andraste are you even doing here? Did you follow me all the way?”

“You came to the Inquisition for help, weren’t you? So here I am. Enchanter Isee of the Montsimmard Circle.” She said with a tune of pride in her voice. Then the frown of consternation flashed through her face and she corrected herself. “Ex-circle. Currently working for the Inquisition. The delegated help.”

“Well, your intervention was unnecessary, Enchanter Isee of the ex-Montsimmard Circle. Now you can go back.” Michel said and turned to leave.

She let a low grumble that sounded rather funny and rushed to keep up with him, completely ignoring his last sentence. “Maybe you would be nicer if I let that guy put his sword between your shoulder blades. It can still be fixed if you wish.”

“You definitely seemed more polite back in the camp.”

“You were laying half-naked on my bedroll. The situation called upon politeness.”

He turned to her with a mouth open in protest, but she waved him away dismissively. “Now we better move before that snow turns us both into happy snowmen. It would be hard to hunt that demon of yours then.” And she cheerily strode down the snowy hill without waiting for him to follow.

Michel watched as she hopped between the snow banks, her auburn braid bouncing behind her. He was dumbstruck. She had just accused him of invading her bedroll while stripped, just after she merrily threatened him with death. Nevertheless, she was a skilled healer and had just only put down an armored man with a single spell. Even though Michel was fairly certain the _delegated_ help had in fact delegated herself, for Maker only knows what reason, he definitely could use it. He took a deep breath, shook his head and rushed after her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are an incredibly skilled warrior, Ser Michel. Better than any I have met. I don’t see how your birth has anything to do with it. Nobility is not only the bloodline but also one’s virtue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After girls from The Masked Empire succesively crushed his self-esteem (yes, you Melcendre; yes, you Briala; yes, you Celene; with a special contribution from Imshael), Ser Michel just had to hear how awsome he is from someone tad prettier than Gaspard.

After the awful snowstorm that completely precluded their trek and forced them to camp early the previous day, the next morning welcomed them with the sun rising from behind the hill, illuminating the lovely valley below. The snow’s surface had frozen forming the hard shell, on which they could walk without wading knee-deep in the drifts. They kept to the borders of the forest, which sheltered them from unwelcomed eyes.

The hours of their journey followed in peace, barring the merry chattering of Michel’s tag along. The pretty views and an easy walk infused Isee with a new wave of energy. In just few hours they spent walking, Michel learned all about the superiority of the alcohol selection in the Skyhold tavern over the boring wine in Montsimmard hold, how red berries of Prophet’s Laurel, the symbol of Andraste’s blood upon her Sword of Mercy, actually caused severe diarrhea after ingestion and all the spicy details of the secret romance between some Tevinter mage and a Qunari mercenary, he would die a happier man never having heard of. 

“Try it! You should totally try it!” she exclaimed, swinging a suspiciously looking plant in front of his nose while chewing on a slice herself. “Elfroot tastes a little funny, but it’s great for everything. You will be brand new!”

Just a moment ago she’d leapt into the drift with a wild shriek that made Michel jump and bare his sword in alarm. Instead of a battalion of attacking Templars, he saw Isee’s triumphant smile as she emerged from the snow bank with the aforementioned Elfroot in her hand.

“I am quite new as I am, thank you.” Michel answered, waving off her hand. During their last stop he tended his armor as best as he could with the limited equipment he had on hand. Now the sun shone brightly on his mended breastplate and though it was far from perfect, he looked rather presentable. Nevertheless, when she eyed him up and down, Michel twitched in slight embarrassment.

“You seem pretty good to me.” Her playful tone suddenly lost its humor and she stopped chewing on her root slice. “Though Empress Celene decided to have you replaced for some reason. Not the dislike for Elfroot, I’d wager?”

Michel gulped, the painful memories creeping up on him. “That’s… no, not the Elfroot.” Her impertinent question should have angered him. She was in no place to ask about his past and he had no reason to share it with her. No reason to expose his great lie. He didn’t feel angry though. His actions were too shameful to be irate with anyone pointing them out, even an elf. He disgraced himself and only he was to blame.

“What happened then?”

Michel stopped walking and looked at her. There was no mockery in her question, no pity either, simple curiosity. No great plan to use his secrets to discredit him or his Empress. She just wanted to know, without any hidden agenda. 

“I am a commoner,” Michel said finally, “and yet I forged my title and entered Academie des Chevaliers posing as a noble.” He said that out loud. And it felt surprisingly purifying.

She stared at him, apparently waiting to hear something more, but he remained silent. “That’s it?” she said finally, “I’ve heard wild stories about some dreadful treachery.”

“This is a terrible crime. If the Academie found out, they would strip my name from the rolls and order my execution. I am not even Ser anymore and you shouldn’t call me that.”

She tilted her head and gave a small humph. “The only flaw I see here is the recruitment policy of this Academie of yours. I bet they loose many great people because of these silly rules.”

Michel looked at her incredulously. “You can’t possibly think so.” The thought of the Academie des Chevaliers accepting peasants was as alien to him as a Qunari on the Sunburst Throne. 

But she did think exactly so.

“You are an incredibly skilled warrior, Ser Michel. Better than any I have met. I don’t see how your birth has anything to do with it. Nobility is not only the bloodline but also one’s virtue.”

Michel blinked, not knowing what to answer. He didn’t expect such words of wisdom from someone like her, an elf. Grand Duke Gaspard once told him that two hundreds years ago a woman entering the Academie was unthinkable and then Ser Aveline came along and the rules changed. Maybe Isee was right. Maybe one day he would see Qunari as a Divine after all…

“And… I know you would do fine without my help back then.” She added bashfully digging the tip of her boot into the snow.

Michel chuckled at her reluctant confession. “Now you make me embarrassed. We should get moving.”

Isee gave him a playful smile, hopped through the fallen log and set off.

“You know,” he said catching up with her, “maybe I could try some of this root of yours after all…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michel was slowly dozing off when he felt her covering him back. He was about to start protesting when she lifted the hem of the blanket and curled herself beside him. He felt nice warmth spreading from where her body touched his and couldn’t help the small gasp of pleasure.

Good luck did not stick with them for too long. By the time the evening approached, they encountered a group of Red Templars, a fight that left them drained and scratched. What’s more, the weather got worse again. Cold gusts of wind lashed their faces and stole the breath from their lungs. 

“What on Creators’ tits were you thinking? To run around after some blasted demon in the land of everlasting snow and ice and cold and chill!” Isee wrapped hands around her chest to preserve heat with little success. 

“I don’t recall tying you up and dragging you along by force.” Michel was working on the dampen logs, trying to spark some fire and continuously failing. 

She turned her face towards him, her eyes sparkling with interest and a smirk curling her lips. Truly sudden change of mood. “Now, that’s the idea! Tied and kidnapped by the knight outcast. That’s something Scout Harding would certainly go for. And tortured!”

Michel gave her a dubious look. 

“Alright, no torture…” He could almost hear disappointment in her voice.

He didn’t know what was more disturbing – the fact that it was he that came up with the idea or that she was actually entertaining it. “So you finally admit that you followed me defying your orders?”

“I said no such thing. Do not change the topic!”

Michel put the wood aside with a sullen sigh. “It’s no use. I’m sorry.”

Despite her hardy posture, Isee looked quite pitiful, wet and chilled to the bone. Her clothes were warmer than Michel’s, but she was of little form and thus with much smaller heat reservoir. Her cheeks were reddish with cold and her teeth chattered slightly. Michel took his blanket and put it over her shaking shoulders. 

“You are not going to—” 

“I just did. I don’t want to see you frozen to death by tomorrow morning.”

At the lack of her reply Michel assumed the discussion was over and lied down on his bedroll. He was slowly dozing off when he felt her covering him back. He was about to start protesting when she lifted the hem of the blanket and curled herself beside him. Michel felt nice warmth spreading from where her body touched his and couldn’t help the small gasp of pleasure. He felt her shiver slightly against his back. “That’s nice…” She quietly sighed and pressed herself closer. It was nice indeed. He wouldn’t suggest this course of action in a thousand years, but in truth it was the wisest thing to do to keep them both warm. Michel made himself relax, trying to ignore all the reactions typical of the healthy man’s body in such a situation. 

“I let you out of my sight for a second and you are already at the second base, kids. Naughty, naughty.”

Both Isee and Michel jumped out of the bedroll like two scalded cats.

A middle-aged man in black coat sat on the log and watched them with unhidden amusement. A man Michel knew only too well.

_Imshael._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You!” Isee turned suddenly, fury in her eyes. “You don’t have the slightest idea what you have done, do you?” Michel involuntarily took a step back seeing her green eyes flush with anger.

“Isn’t it a lovely meeting, Ser Michel? As soon as I’ve heard friends were asking for me, I had to come and say hi at least.”

“I am not your friend.” Michel bared his blade and took a step forward. “And you will die for what you’ve done, demon.”

Imshael tsked and sighted. “And here I thought you would learn some good manners by now. _Spirit._ ”

“I’ve finally found you and I will not let you slip away this time.” 

“Were you looking for me? Such devotion, I’m moved. Not that I was hiding or anything, really.”

Michel felt familiar aura of power creeping up on him. The air around him tightened and he had to force his muscles to keep the grip on the sword. Beads of cold sweat broke out on his temples. Subconsciously he pushed his body through quick centering exercises, a habit of every chevalier. 

Michel gripped the sword’s hilt tighter and tensed his muscles ready to lunge when the outstretched arm stopped him. 

“Don’t be a fool, Michel.” Isee hissed beside him.

“Ah, a voice of reason. How refreshing.” Demon moved his eyes to Isee and gave a wide smile. “ _Ir melana arlath’din, da’len. Iras ma melava dar?_ ”

Imshael spoke in flawless Elvish. Michel didn’t understand and Isee seemed not to understand either. She merely stared at the demon with her face blank. From what Michel knew of the elves, non-Dalish spoke little more than few words of their native tongue and Isee did not wear face-tattoos that would mark her as Dalish. 

The demon rose from the log he was sitting on and was now strolling across the knee-deep snow. Only that the snow seemed to part before him, leaving his fine boots intact. “Not going to answer even such conventional question?” He shook his head. “Ser Michel’s bad manners are apparently contagious.” 

“Or she doesn’t understand your utterance.” Michel snapped.

“Doesn’t she?” He watched with a smile as the girl stepped uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Aaaw, she can’t possibly be mad over that mealy-mouthed clan of hers, can she?”

“You didn’t have to kill them.” Isee finally answered, her voice grim.

“No, I didn’t. Just like they didn’t have to call me to this world. We all made our _choices_. True, mine was kindly facilitated by the _choice_ of that young gentleman over there, but still. Be a big girl and bear the consequences. Besides, I didn’t kill all of them. The First, Mihris, still lives. And you.”

He took a few steps and stretched his hand towards her, but before he could touch her, she jumped away like a scared animal. “Oh, don’t give me this frightened look, love. You have nothing to fear from me. In fact, you made my visit to the waking world somehow worthwhile. I found your choices immensely amusing.”

Michel was baffled. This entire conversation didn’t make the slightest sense. How was that _her_ clan that Imshael slaughtered? “What does he—“

“You!” Isee turned suddenly, fury in her eyes. “You don’t have the slightest idea what you have done, do you?” Michel involuntarily took a step back seeing her green eyes flush with anger.

“ _The first of the magus cast themselves deep in the Fade in search of answers and power, always power._ ” She started declaiming, voice barely audible. ” _They found the Forbidden Ones – Xebenkeck, Imshael, Gaxkang the Unbound, and The Formless One._ Ancient demons of formidable power.”

“ _Spir_ — oh by the Maker Andraste’s poor neglected butt, _now_ we need to talk,” Imshael gasped in exasperation. “Why on earth would you say my name in one breath together with these faded uphill gardeners? This Formless sod especially.” Imshael grimaced with disgust. “I’m officially offended.”

He bent down and scooped a handful of snow, which melted immediately in his hands. When he stretched back, he was smiling again. “But the power seeking fellows… good men, made some decent choices, brought nice havoc to the waking world. How do you call it…” He frowned searching for the right world and then snapped his finger. “Blood magic.”

“And don’t be too harsh on our dear Michel, sweetie.” He said turning to Isee. “Allow me to remind that you contributed to my stroll over the waking world as surely as he did.” Imshael grinned widely seeing Michel’s puzzled expression. “You have no idea, do you? Let me enlighten you then. Our dear Isee, now proudly calling herself a circle mage, was running through the woods with her now-dead Dalish buddies of the Clan Virnehn not so long ago. And all would be cock-a-hoop and butterflies if our lass weren’t, well, a mage. Dalish, you see, like mages a lot, but only in limited quantities. Long story shot – one Isee too many, they kicked her out.”

“They didn’t. I left. It was my—“

“ _Choice._ ” Imshael grinned. “Fair point. So she kicked out herself, to the Montsimmard Circle. Lovely cupcakes they serve there, don’t you think? Anyway, one day the Dalish come up with rather pea-brained idea to summon a… spirit. They show up at Isee’s doorstep, coax her to gift them some lyrium – no shortage in the Circle of Magi, so why not, right? – do their little magic and here I am.” He spread his hands in a theatrical gesture. “After you, dear Ser Michel, came along and smashed their silly binding circle that is.”

Michel glared. “Lyrium?”

“You don’t just snap your fingers and summon the Forbidden One, boy. Lyrium. Lots of it. Thanks to our naughty smuggler.” He smiled and bowed to Isee. “Now, don’t give her this chastening look, Ser Michel. One can hardly blame her. If the lyrium were out of the reach, our friend the Keeper would certainly substitute it with some healthy blood magicking. Anything to regain even a scoop of long lost elven culture, am I wrong?”

Imshael watched triumphantly as Michel and Isee gazed upon each other reproachfully. “It’s getting late and you two clearly have some catching up to do. I hope we can chat some more in the future.“

“No! I’m not letting you go!” Michel raised his sword.

“Oh, going to miss me so badly?” Imshael stopped and looked fondly at Michel. “I would gladly invite you over for a cup of tea, but unfortunately my new housemates are not very hospitable. I’m afraid they may slay you as soon as you cross the doorstep. Eager boys they are you see, these Red Templars.” Demon shook his head. “No, that would be no fun.”

Imshael rubbed his chin and hummed. “Alright. Why don’t we meet somewhere else then? Like… the Tower of Bone? Have you heard that… ah, we can share the stories later. Two days from now. Is that fine with you, Michel?”

The chevalier frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but Isee flashed him a dissuading look. 

“We accept.” She said.

“Good choice! I must say it’s becoming quite enjoyable. Bring your spells and hexes and I will bring… cookies.” Demon’s voice was cheerful, but his eyes glared dangerously. “I can’t wait.” And with these words he dissolved into the haze of smoke and sulfur leaving them alone in the midst of the snowy wasteland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ir melana arlath’din, da’len. Iras ma melava dar?_ \- Long time no see, little one. How/where have you been? (translation to the best of my knowledge)


End file.
